Chapter Text
Kirishima looked in the mirror, unsure of his appearance. The brown shirt and black fabric pants he was wearing did not suit his style at all. He felt that these clothes didn't reflect his personality. He reluctantly fastened the belt Sero had given him, hoping it would complete the look despite feeling out of place.
"Oh, come on, Ei! You look great! Okay, maybe it's not really your style, but it looks so stylish, right guys?" Mina looked him over as if she was approving of his work.
Kaminari looked up from his phone and shot a small whistle at Kirishima. "Damn man, you're hot as hell!"
They were preparing for their class reunion. After 5 years, the whole class would finally be together again. Kirishima always saw his friends' successes online, but finding the time to actually meet up was a struggle. Right now, they were just preparing together. Mina was doing Kirishima's eyeliner. Meanwhile, Sero was knocked out on the couch in the corner, totally wiped out from working full time last week. They finally got in the car. Sero drove sleepily while Kaminari and Mina chatted animatedly in the back. Kirishima gazed out the window, watching raindrops slide down the glass. He knew it would be good to see everyone and take a break from his busy work life on nights like this.
"From earth to Eijirou?" Mina waved her hand in front of Kirishima's face.
Kirishima flinched and looked at Mina, who was watching him with some concern. "Sorry, I was lost in thought. What were you saying?"
Mina looked at him as though she knew what he was thinking. Kirishima gave her a reassuring smile. Kaminari repeated what he said, something about the guitar he wanted to buy. He nodded absentmindedly, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. He could feel Mina's worried gaze on him, but he ignored it. Finally, Sero stopped the car. Kirishima stepped out, glancing at the colorful writing around them. They had arrived at a bar. Aoyama had made arrangements with a friend to borrow it for the night. They went inside, where most of their friends were already gathered.
"Finally, guys!" Hagakure smiled at them while hugging Mina.
The voice caught the attention of the others. Everyone greeted them. The bar pulsed with energy, a vibrant oasis filled with laughter and the thumping rhythm of music. Sero made his way through the crowd, seeking out his boyfriend, Todoroki, whose calm demeanor stood out amidst the lively chaos. Meanwhile, Kaminari, ever the party enthusiast, wasted no time at all and headed straight for the bar counter. It was no surprise to anyone that he preferred to dive into the festivities with a drink in hand. Kirishima, observing the scene unfold, couldn't shake the feeling that a drinking contest was on the horizon. Kirishima sat down next to Mina. He wasn't in the mood for a drinking contest.
"Damn Kiri! Has your style changed? You look great!" Hagakure said as she looked at her friend.
Momo and Jirou agreed. Eijirou rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks girls! Mina actually made me wear it."
"I love it!" Hagakure said.
Later that night, most of his friends moved on to dancing, the energy shifting as the music took over. Some preferred to just talk and get drunk, enjoying the lively chatter around them. Mina, ever the enthusiastic one, tried to pull Kirishima into a dance, but he wasn't really in the mood. He politely refused, preferring to watch the fun from the sidelines. He wanted to have fun but needed a moment to himself. He was slowly feeling the effects of alcohol. He leaned his head back against his chair. He absently played with his glass. He looked over when he noticed someone entering the door. Oh, it looks like Midoriya was a bit late. Kirishima was about to wave at him, but then he paused. His heart sped up with what he saw. The unexpected sight stirred something deep within, igniting a whirlwind of emotions.
He's here.
Kirishima froze, his gaze locked on Bakugou, who strode in beside Midoriya. The black tank top clung to his frame, and the baggy blue jeans gave him an effortlessly rugged look. After five years, he still had the same commanding presence that made Kirishima's heart race. Their friends at the bar noticed them, and the others were shocked as well. The music lowered, and most of his friends were stunned by Bakugou's presence.
"Bakugou?! You're here! Dude, for a moment, I thought you were gonna stay in New York for the rest of your life." The drunk Kaminari stumbled towards him and hugged him.
Bakugou rolled his eyes as Kaminari stumbled towards him, a goofy grin plastered on his face. It had been five long years since they last saw each other, and despite the annoyance bubbling up inside him, he allowed Kaminari to hug him. He stood stiffly, arms crossed, refusing to return the gesture. The laughter and chaos of their friends faded into the background, leaving just the two of them in this moment.
"Seriously, you idiot?" Bakugou grumbled, trying to mask the warmth creeping into his chest.
Kaminari pulled back, still swaying slightly, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I missed you, man! New York was wild, but it’s not the same without you to share the stories with!"
Bakugou rolled his eyes again, but a small smirk threatened to break through. "You’re still as annoying as ever."
As their friends gathered around, the atmosphere buzzed with energy, and Bakugou couldn’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over him. Kaminari laughed, his voice a little too loud, drawing attention from the others. "You know you missed me!"
Bakugou glanced at their friends, who were already rolling their eyes and laughing at Kaminari’s antics. "Just don’t drag me into any of your stupid plans this time," he warned, though his tone lacked the usual bite.
Kaminari threw an arm around Bakugou’s shoulders, pulling him into another hug. "No promises!" he said cheerfully.
Bakugou sat on a chair, and his friends asked him questions about New York. Despite their enthusiasm, Bakugou responded with short answers, clearly not wanting to engage too much in the conversation. His old classmates were curious about his experiences, but he kept it brief, giving them just enough to satisfy their curiosity without revealing too much of his own feelings about the trip.
Kirishima stayed seated, swirling his drink while keeping his gaze fixed on the glass. He could feel Mina's worried gaze on him, but he chose to ignore it once again. The weight of her concern hung in the air, but he was too caught up in his own thoughts to acknowledge it. He swirled the drink in his glass. Mina smiled warmly at Bakugou before taking a seat next to Kirishima.
"Hey, you okay?" she asked softly.
Kirishima could feel the warmth of her support, but he still found it difficult to meet her gaze, lost in the turmoil of his own feelings. However, he raised his head and smiled at Mina.
"Oh, of course I'm fine! No problem," he replied, trying to sound more upbeat than he felt.
The smile felt a bit forced, but he hoped it would reassure her. Mina's concerned expression softened. She nodded slowly, though doubt lingered in her eyes. There were other people's voices in the background, a mix of laughter and chatter that filled the bar with a lively atmosphere. Kirishima's gaze wandered over the colorful lights and quirky artwork, his mind drifting. He tried to focus on the surroundings, hoping to distract himself from the weight of his thoughts.
When his gaze accidentally wandered to that side, red eyes met red. Kirishima stopped for a moment, his breath hitching in his throat. It was strange to even look at him after five years, a rush of memories flooding back—some warm, some painful. The familiar intensity of those crimson eyes stirred a mix of emotions within him, a bittersweet reminder of the past they shared. Kirishima smiled gently, though faintly, trying to convey warmth despite the uncertainty swirling within him. He looked away before seeing Bakugou's reaction. He focused on the bar's decorations again, trying to steady his racing heart. The laughter and chatter around him felt distant as he grappled with the emotions stirring inside. The tension between them was palpable, a silent undercurrent that everyone seemed to notice but no one dared to address. It was particularly striking that, after five long years, the closest of friends had not even exchanged a greeting.
Though the shock of Bakugou's arrival faded for the group, it lingered in Kirishima's chest, an ache of unresolved emotions hidden beneath his outward calm. Laughter and conversation filled the air as everyone resumed their drinking, chatting, and dancing, seamlessly slipping back into the joyful chaos of the evening. Sero cast a glance toward Kirishima, seeking reassurance, and upon meeting his gaze, he found him smiling back with a warmth that eased his worries.
The air between them was heavy, as though all the memories they’d locked away were trying to break free. Kirishima kept his gaze steady on the decorations of the bar, his fingers tightening slightly around his glass. He didn’t need to look at Bakugou again; he already felt the weight of those crimson eyes on him.
Despite the warmth that had always defined him, Eijirou knew he couldn’t let himself be pulled into Bakugou’s orbit again—not this time. Not after Bakugou had ignored his messages for years. He had always been the kind of person to forgive easily, to hold onto the good in people even when they let him down. His optimism, his boundless belief in second chances—it was the core of who he was.
But even the kindest hearts could break.
He couldn’t count the nights he’d spent staring at his phone, hoping for a reply that never came. The weight of those ignored messages, the echo of his own vulnerability, had left scars he didn’t want to reopen. He ran his thumb over the rim of his glass, the familiar sting of disappointment settling in his chest like an old wound reopening. It wasn’t easy for someone like him to turn away. To let go. His nature was to forgive, to move forward with open arms. But he had learned, painfully, that even the strongest hearts could only bear so much. And if he let himself care again—if he let Bakugou close enough to hurt him—it would only reopen the wounds he’d fought so hard to heal.
This time, he had to be strong. Not for Bakugou. Not for anyone else. For himself.
---
Kirishima leaned his head against the cool surface of the bar’s counter, eyes shut for a moment. The laughter and music around him had become a dull hum, the warmth of the alcohol settling in his veins. He took a deep breath and straightened up, his resolve hardening.
“Mina, I’m heading out,” he said abruptly, pulling on his jacket.
Mina frowned. “Kiri, the night’s still young! Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’ve got an early shift tomorrow. You guys have fun.” He forced a small smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, before turning on his heel and heading for the door.
The cold rain hit him the moment he stepped outside, the downpour soaking through his clothes in seconds. He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking, letting the rain wash away the lingering heat from the bar. His thoughts were hazy, a swirling mix of regret and defiance.
Behind him, the door slammed open. “Oi, Eijirou!”
Kirishima froze for a second before continuing his steps. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The voice alone was enough to send a shiver down his spine—part dread, part something else he didn’t want to name.
“Don’t fucking walk away from me!” Bakugou’s voice was sharp, cutting through the rain.
Kirishima’s pace quickened, his boots splashing through the puddles as the sound of footsteps grew closer behind him.
“Dammit, Kirishima!” Bakugou’s hand grabbed his shoulder, yanking him around. Kirishima stumbled slightly, the alcohol in his system making him unsteady.
“Leave me alone, Katsuki,” Kirishima muttered, his voice low but laced with exhaustion.
“Like hell I will!” Bakugou snapped, his crimson eyes blazing. “You walk out like that, after ignoring me the whole damn night? What’s your problem?”
“My problem?” Kirishima laughed bitterly, shaking his head. The rain dripped from his soaked hair, mingling with the frustration etched across his face. “You don’t get to ask me that. Not after five years of nothing, Katsuki. Nothing.”
Bakugou faltered, his usual fire dimming for a split second. But his pride wouldn’t let him back down. “You think it was easy for me, huh? You think I didn’t—”
“Didn’t what?” Kirishima interrupted, stepping closer, his voice rising. “Didn’t care enough to reply? Didn’t bother to check in? Don’t stand here now and act like you gave a damn when you didn’t even try.”
The words hit harder than Bakugou expected, and for a moment, he was silent, the sound of the rain filling the void.
The rain poured between them, cold and relentless, but neither of them moved to seek shelter. Kirishima’s chest heaved as the words he’d held back for years spilled out, raw and unfiltered. Bakugou stood rooted in place, his fists clenched at his sides, the sharpness in his crimson eyes dulled by something unspoken.
Kirishima took a deep breath, steadying himself as he stood in the pouring rain. The alcohol still buzzed faintly in his veins, leaving him jittery and just a little unsteady. Or maybe it wasn’t the alcohol at all—maybe it was the weight of the moment, the way Bakugou’s presence stirred something in him that he had spent years trying to bury.
He exhaled slowly, watching the breath cloud in the cold air. “Katsuki, I…” Kirishima trailed off, his voice faltering. He ran a hand through his wet hair, trying to gather his thoughts.
“Listen, Katsuki,” Kirishima began softly, his voice steady despite the storm raging in his chest. “I’ve thought about this moment more times than I care to admit. What I’d say if I ever saw you again. How I’d feel.” He paused, letting the words settle. “But standing here now, I realize there’s nothing left to say.”
Bakugou flinched, the slightest movement, but it was enough for Kirishima to notice. His gaze softened, and he gave a small, almost sad smile.
“You don’t have to explain,” Kirishima continued, his tone kind but resolute. “Whatever kept you away, whatever made you ignore me for all those years… I’ve already made my peace with it. I’ve had to.”
Bakugou opened his mouth to speak, but Kirishima raised a hand, stopping him.
“I care about you, Katsuki,” he admitted, his voice raw with sincerity. “I always have. And I probably always will. But caring about you doesn’t mean I have to hold onto the hope that things can go back to the way they were. I can’t keep doing that to myself.”
The words hit Bakugou harder than he expected. His usual fiery retorts and sharp words felt stuck in his throat, drowned out by the weight of Kirishima’s honesty.
“You think I didn’t care?” Bakugou finally managed to say, his voice low and almost trembling. “You think I wanted to—”
“It doesn’t matter what you wanted,” Kirishima interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. “What matters is what happened. And what didn’t happen.”
For a moment, Bakugou’s carefully crafted exterior cracked. His crimson eyes flickered with something vulnerable, something raw. But he quickly forced it down, his scowl returning like a shield.
Kirishima took a step back, the rain between them feeling like a wall neither of them could cross. “I’m not angry at you, Katsuki. Not anymore. But I can’t pretend things didn’t change. I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt.”
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of rain hitting the pavement. Bakugou’s hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he struggled to find something, anything, to say that would make Kirishima stay.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” Kirishima said, his voice softer now, almost tender.
Without waiting for a response, Kirishima turned and walked away, his figure fading into the downpour.
Bakugou stood there, the rain soaking through his clothes as he watched Kirishima disappear into the distance. His heart felt heavy, each beat a reminder of what he’d just lost. He clenched his teeth, the emotions swirling inside him threatening to break free, but he refused to let them show.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, his head tilted down as he let out a sharp exhale. “Stupid...” he muttered under his breath, though the word felt more directed at himself than anyone else.
Turning on his heel, Bakugou walked back toward the bar, his usual scowl firmly in place. But beneath the hardened exterior, regret gnawed at him, a quiet storm brewing behind his crimson eyes.
He wouldn’t say it, couldn’t admit it—not even to himself. But for the first time in his life, Katsuki Bakugou truly understood what it felt like to lose something irreplaceable.